HTLJ: The Weeping Maiden
by Arianna18
Summary: Hercules is hit with an ancient curse and Iolaus has very little time to save him.


Prologue:

Cringing in the corner of the kitchen by the hearth, Catalina covered her ears with her hands in a vain effort to block out the terrible whimpers and moans of pain and terror from the next room. Tears of rage and fear streamed down her face but she bit her lip to stifle her sobs, trying hard not to give way to a panic that would only leave her senseless with hysteria. Her raven black hair cascaded down her back in riotous curls, glossy and luxurious in contrast to the thread-bare, much mended and still clean shift that barely covered a body newly that of a woman. It seemed to her that for all of her fifteen years it had ever been thus…a life of abuse and fear, cringing and cowering, huddling away from blows, enduring what couldn't be avoided, scrapes and bruises and broken bones, blood, pain and tears.

She hated him.

He was raging like a bull, mad with drink and lust, needing to exert his power to convince himself he was alive and strong. If he wasn't so dangerous, he'd be an object of pity and contempt, as no doubt he was to everyone else in this miserable village. Why did no one ever come? They knew, they all knew, the neighbours, the magistrate, the smith and tanner, the baker and the midwife, the shepherds and goatherder…they all knew. And did nothing. Nothing, though he'd already killed one daughter…and by the sounds from the next room, he'd soon be without a wife.

Her eyes darted around the shambles of the kitchen, the overturned table and broken crockery, herbs and flour scattered everywhere, ground into the dirt of the cottage floor by his heavy boots. Honey dripped over the counter and the broken flask of cheap red wine filled the small room with the sickly sweet scent of fermented grape. The fire in the hearth had gone out, neglected as was all else in this poor hovel. Wincing at the sharp, muffled scream, her eyes lifted to the uncovered square in the wall and to the darkening sky beyond.

"Apollo," she whispered, "if you love me, please help me!"

The radiant young god had found her in the forest three months ago when she'd been gathering herbs for both medicinal and culinary purposes, as well as flowers to brighten this dreadful hovel that was all her family could afford. She'd been smitten by him, overwhelmed by his small courtesies, kindnesses she'd not known in her short life. And he had been overcome, undone by her beauty and innocence, spellbound by the courage with which she faced a life that would have destroyed a less pure and noble soul. He'd proclaimed his love for her, with all his heart and soul, sincere in his words and emotions. She'd believed him, and believing, was certain now that he would come for her, and save her from her father's brutality. That belief was all she had to hold onto…all that kept her from losing her mind with the hopelessness and horror of what was happening in that little cottage.

But, there was no answer…not from man or god. At first, she was stunned and disbelieving and she called to him again. But when he still didn't come, she shuddered with the terrible awareness that she was completely alone, and soon it would be her turn to suffer again. 'Why doesn't someone help?' she wondered again, as she'd wondered day after day, night after night, until she'd lost count long ago of how many times she'd begged, hoped, wished for help. But, it seemed her fate was of little interest to the world. In the days of her childhood, when she'd still hoped, still begged, faces stony with indifference turned away, leaving her and her sister to manage as best they could. But, now her sister was dead, killed by that beast who claimed his right over their lives as the patriarch of this pitiful family grouping. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and hardened her heart. Never again would she believe in love. Her innocence was shattered, the vestiges of her capacity to trust finally annihilated by the indifference of those who should have cared, should have helped. Never again would she feel compassion or pity for another…she was alone. No one cared.

Gods, she had loathed and feared her father with every breath in her body for as long as she could remember…but now she felt hate for all the world as well.

There was a crash in the next room, an anguished cry cut off stillborn, then silence. He'd be coming for her soon and he was in a murderous mood. Frantically, her eyes again scanned the wreckage of her home and a glint of light from the last breath of the sun caught something on the floor under the table…the carving knife. Desperate, she scrambled on her knees across the small space and reached to grasp the hilt of the weapon firmly in her thin fingers. Even as she tightened her grip, she heard his stumbling step behind her, and the crushing strength of his fingers on her arm, dragging her up and around to face him. He was breathing heavily in his drunkenness, and she could small the sourness of his breath…and the stench of the blood on his hands.

Her mother's blood.

Without thinking, driven by desperation and fury, inspired by the instinct to survive despite the horror of her life, the hopelessness of it, she turned with the momentum of his grip, rising up against his body as he hauled her towards him. Of its own accord, her fist brought the knife up in a swinging, hard curve to plunge it deeply into his body under his ribs.

He roared in furious pain, lashing out at her, clubbing her to the ground. She had not loosened her grip, so the knife came with her when she fell, letting gush a fountain of blood that spilled over her, sickening her. He stumbled, stunned, the rage draining into shocked comprehension and then into a flash of terror even as the darkness spun away all his thoughts and he crumpled, falling over her, pinning her to the floor with his great weight.

Horrified, she gasped and pushed him away, having to lever up with her hands and knees, and then roll out from under the weight upon her back, letting his body thump lifelessly to the floor. Bile rose in her throat and her blue eyes were wide and dark with shock. Trembling, she dragged herself away from her father's body, then staggered to her feet, gagging and retching at the magnitude of what she had done. Finally, she let the knife fall from her numb fingers as she stumbled another step back toward the other room. Leaning against the wall for support, she peered into the sleeping space and then pressed her eyes closed as a keening cry rose to her lips.

Her mother was dead, lying beaten and broken in the twisted blankets on the floor. He'd killed her, just as he'd killed her sister.

Catalina somehow found her way to the door and staggered out onto the dusty lane into the fading light of dusk. She heard someone scream and looked up, confused…and felt a stone hit her shoulder. Reeling away, scarcely aware that she was stained scarlet from head to foot, sticky with her father's blood, she tried to make sense of the rising cacophony of voices around her, screaming at her, condemning her…but another stone hit her, bruising her side, and she turned to slip around the shelter of the cottage, stumbling into the forest behind, seeking shelter, safety.

Gods, they were stoning her for defending herself! They didn't care what he'd done to her sister, her mother…what he'd done to her over the years. It was his right as a man. She was nothing…they could care less about her life, her well-being, let alone anything that might resemble security or, the gods help her, happiness.

She ran until she was out of breath, and when she stumbled by the wide stream in the small glade she crumpled to the damp earth, sobbing with helpless grief. Aching with pain and fury, she tried to push away the images of her murdered parents but it was as if the fractured memories were burned into her mind. Desperate with horror, she frantically tried to wash the blood from her face and arms. More terrible than the blood, she could not find it in herself to feel guilt or even pity for having killed her father, and that sickened her, leaving her filled with self-contempt for having fulfilled her birthright…for having become a murderous beast just as he had been. Breathing hard, lost and alone, she felt her rage and horror burn too hot until it consumed all her capacity to feel, leaving her numb, empty…as indifferent as everyone else in that godsforsaken village that had been the only home she'd ever known.

"Oh, my love," whispered Apollo, his voice catching with pity. "What have they done to you?"

The young god, golden in his beauty, was stricken with abject concern for her. He reached out to embrace her and give her solace, but she cringed away from him as she rasped, "Don't touch me!" Wheeling to face him, her pale face was stark and austere as she condemned him, her words and tone brittle and cold, "Don't call me 'love'. You're as bad as the rest…you claim you love me, but you were deaf to my cries, blind to my pain. You…you didn't come when I needed you so desperately…"

"I couldn't," the young god protested, pleading for her understanding. "I'm not allowed to interfere…"

But she cut him off, rising to her full height, one hand held out before her, palm up to stop him from speaking further as she cried, "Interfere? He killed my mother and sister! He was going to kill me!" Unconscious tears streamed down her face as she continued, her voice broken with the vestige of emotion that was all she could yet feel, "Nobody cares…nobody." Taking a deep breath, she continued, her voice now cold and remote, "I curse you and this wretched world for having finally taught me the bitter taste of indifference. If you love me…if you love me, give power to my curses, that my tears might let others suffer this cold emptiness …let their souls be like mine, lost and alone here in this dim forest. Nobody cares… everyone is indifferent. The world is empty and I am the wretched of the earth…if you love me, make them pay…."

Tears glittered in Apollo's blue eyes and he felt as if his heart had shattered in his breast. Again, he reached for her, but she slapped his hand away as she stood alone like a goddess, as vengeful as Athena standing in judgment. Yet even in her anguish she was so beautiful, was almost translucent with the terrible agony that stole her fire away, leaving her a pale bitter shell of the bright young woman she might have been. She was suffering so much, he couldn't stand it but he knew there was no way that he could take away her pain. Closing his eyes, he swallowed the sob that had risen in his own throat, then lifted his gaze to hers even as he lifted his hand as if giving a benediction.

"So be it," he intoned solemnly. "I give you all my love as the first sacrifice…and by that sacrifice, your curses are given the power you desire. From this time forward, your tears will spread the bitter indifference that has taken root in your heart, and the souls of the afflicted will be condemned to loiter here with yours, prisoners of the anguish that is palpable in this glade. From this time forward, those who taste the salt of your tears will pay the penalty of your pain."

She gazed at him with empty eyes, her heart heavy in her breast, too weary it seemed to keep breathing. Her life was shattered, her spirit broken, but even in this darkest moment of her life, she yet had some pity for those who would suffer her curse. "Let those who drink of my tears die within a month, that their period of emptiness be limited for it is no life."

"As you wish," Apollo granted her request, as he would have granted her anything, so deeply did he love her. In mercy, he waved his hand, and wept as she turned to stone. Stepping forward, he gently touched her cold face as he whispered, "I do love you, Catalina…and can't bear to see you suffer for all time. So rest now, little one, for all that your soul will be trapped here and your tears will continue to fall."

Sadly, the young god turned away to gaze blindly around the small glade, graced now with the petrified statue of the young woman, whose face was empty with indifference but for the tears which streamed down her alabaster cheeks. Despite the tattered and now blood-stained rags she wore, her feet bare and blotched with mud, she was hauntingly beautiful. The stream flowed by at her feet, innocent of the pain and grief that dwelt in this quiet, isolated place. Falling to his knees, Apollo bowed his golden head and wrapped his arms around himself as he wept piteously for her…and for the anguish in his own heart.

She was his first love. Though he was almost an adult, strong and capable, powerful in the ways of the gods, he'd been born less than a year before. Magically, he'd grown and his beauty had awed even the other gods, his innate wisdom and grace seeming to be boundless. But, for all that, his heart was still young and easily bruised and shattered. She'd been so innocent, so brave in facing the trials of her life, so gentle and somehow always unafraid no matter what came. But, now, she'd been broken by the Fates.

Apollo felt a sudden rage consume him at the injustice of it all…and he gasped with the heart break he felt, as if he would be torn apart by the pain. Never again, he vowed, never again would he love as he'd loved her. Never would he feel compassion for others, whether mortal or divine. In self-defence, not knowing how else to cope with such anguish, the young god hardened his heart and turned his face away from all that remained of the one he had loved best.

* * *

Zeus watched until he could bear it no longer, then he turned away, brushing the moisture from his eyes. Bowing his head, he sighed with sorrow. It had been hard to force this lesson upon his radiant son, hard to deny Apollo's heart-rending pleas that he be allowed to help that poor child. But, Apollo had to learn that he was not to involve himself in the affairs of mortals. More, Zeus thought, the young god had had to toughen a heart too ready to care about the trials of others. Apollo's seemingly boundless capacity for compassion had been a worry, and would only have brought him limitless pain. It was better this way, harsh but better, that this golden prince of the gods learn the hardest lessons now, while he was still young. There was no lasting joy in the love of mortals for they perished like leaves and almost as quickly. There was no place for unconditional compassion on Olympus…it would only leave Apollo vulnerable to the vagaries, both thoughtless and malicious, of the other gods.

Hard lessons, but ones he'd had to teach his son to make him strong enough to cope with eternity.

* * *

Ares stroked his beard as he also watched the events play out, his eyes narrowing with a speculative gleam. 'Trust the kid to grant a silly girl's foolish wish,' the god of War thought disparagingly. Apollo was too softhearted for his own good. But…this was an interesting curse and those tears might well be of use. Add a few tears to the favourite beverage of an enemy and, presto, instant indifference to the battle at hand…and within weeks, a dead enemy. Nodding to himself, the dark god grinned unconsciously. Yes, those tears might prove very useful indeed in the years to come.

* * *

Years passed, then decades and finally scores of centuries rolled by. The stone maiden stood in the small glade, tears glistening perpetually on her cheeks, as they flowed down her body to mingle at last with the stream that gurgled at her feet, the purity of its waters finally diluting and neutralizing them. The legend of the weeping maiden grew and spread, until she came to be worshiped as a minor deity. The glade remained a cold, haunted place and the more sensitive swore they could hear the whisper of tormented souls in the rustling of the leaves. But supplicants brazen with self-interest left tokens and small sacrifices by her feet to placate her so that the indifference she wished upon all mortals would not impede their own desires.

The power of her tears also became legendary. Those who wished to fence in the wandering affections of a loved one would capture the tears and secretly feed them to the object of their erstwhile lover's new affection. When people died of the potions, those who administered them would shrug with indifference, unaware that their own cold hearts held the stronger magic to hurt, and to continue to reinforce the loathing in the enchanted young woman's still aware heart, until the heart hidden by stone was encased with ice. Throughout all of those centuries, not a single person came out of a pure and simple love for another, wanting only the other's happiness…no, all who came saw the world only through the lens of their own desires, too selfish and self-centred to ever have the capacity to set their own needs or wishes aside for the good of another.

Indifference…so seemingly harmless, passive in its nature, yet corrosive and deadly. Indifference, with the power to blind people to the misery of others and to make them deaf to appeals for intercession and rescue. Indifference, which hardened hearts, making them cold and unresponsive and which for all its blandness, was the fertile ground that nourished and sustained the ugliness in men's souls and the tragedies of life.

Though centuries passed, Apollo seemed locked in a perpetual youth, unable to grow beyond the tragic moment of anguished loss. Devoid of compassion, desperate for distraction, he engaged in an endless round of soulless pursuits, becoming an inveterate party animal. He used his innate capacity to invent potions for medicinal effect to create mind-numbing potions instead, fermenting the nectar and ambrosia of the gods into powerful, intoxicating libations. But, none of it worked, none of it dulled the ache he felt inside, so he became bitter and cynical, a noxious, annoying creature of little merit.

Zeus sighed repeatedly over the deplorable behaviours of his golden child, and wondered how many more centuries would need to pass before Apollo finally forgot his lost love and moved on. But even Zeus underestimated the insidious power of indifference to destroy from within and did not realize that though Apollo was immortal, his essence had shriveled, leaving him without purpose and more than half-dead inside.

* * *

Centuries later, in the age of heroes…

"Hey, Herc!" Iolaus called out across the noise of the busy tavern to the friend who'd just walked in the door.

Smiling, Hercules waved in acknowledgment and made his way through the joyous crowd to the table Iolaus had managed to secure in the corner so that Hercules might have some measure of peace away from the centre of the gathering. Clapping his partner on the shoulder in greeting, the demigod pulled out a stool and sat, reaching for the ale Iolaus had thoughtfully ordered for him, knowing he'd not be far behind.

"Busy place," Hercules observed mildly, looking amused by the high spirits of the other patrons.

"Yeah, isn't it though?" Iolaus acknowledged with a grin. "Seems someone killed a monster hereabouts and everyone wants to celebrate being safe again."

The demigod snorted as he rolled his eyes. "The place was just as busy three nights ago when we arrived, only then they were drowning their fears," he noted wryly.

"Ah well, it just goes to prove that a good ale has many beneficial aspects. It can drown a man's worry or enliven his spirit with laughter," the blond warrior intoned sagely, though his eyes twinkled with merriment.

Chuckling, Hercules shook his head as he muttered teasingly, "Sounds like the good ale has enlivened your spirit. You're beginning to sound like a poet."

"Maybe, but I suspect I should keep my day job," Iolaus laughed in return. Though he enjoyed telling tales and entertaining the crowd with the stories of breathtaking adventures or bawdy jokes, he knew all too well that the life of a bard wasn't one that paid well. Not that being a hero paid all that much better…but occasionally they got to enjoy free food and drink. Turning, he signaled to the barmaid to bring another two mugs of ale and a couple of bowls of the stew that was simmering in the hearth. Smelled good…boar most likely. The village was grateful and their tab was being paid by the good citizens, so they might as well enjoy themselves.

Hercules sat back, relaxed now that the threat of the monster had been effectively dealt with. He noted the bruise darkening along Iolaus' jaw, and the long scratch on his buddy's arm from the beast's claw. It had gotten a little tense for a few minutes, when the monster had almost trapped Iolaus against the rock wall of the gully. But the warrior had evaded the creature by a margin so narrow it had left the demigod breathless, and had finally successfully led the monster into the trap. Hercules had been waiting on a ledge above the narrow gully and had crushed the creature, burying it under a landslide of massive boulders while his best friend escaped the stony deluge by squeaking through a narrow fissure, too small for the monster to follow. Iolaus caught his silent inspection and rolled his eyes, mute testimony to his indulgent irritation with Herc's limitless capacity to worry about him. Accepting that his friend was indeed all right, Hercules grinned at Iolaus' expression, then sipped again at his mug of ale.

The tavern was so crowded with jubilant villagers that neither hero noticed another transient visitor who sat cloaked at the table at the far end of the room, around the corner of the bar. His face shadowed by the cowl of his cloak, Ares knew he was just another anonymous person in the crowd. Nursing his own ale, he smirked at how easy it had been to lure the intrepid heroes to this remote village. All it took was one monster and a frenzied message begging for help. The rest was predictable…grateful villagers always insisted on the valiant warriors taking a meal with them to celebrate their victory. His gaze drifting to the tavern keeper, the God of War settled back to watch the ending of this little charade play out.

In his youth, Finias, the owner of this fine establishment, had been one of his best and most ardent followers. In return, Ares had granted Finias many victories and enough spoils of war to enable the man to follow his heart's desire…a triumphant return home, with enough lucre to buy his own tavern and to marry the girl he'd left behind. Finias had vowed to repay Ares for his generous support, promising anything the god asked of him if ever Ares might have need of him.

Well, tonight, the time had come. Hercules had been a thorn in his side for years and the God of War had had more than enough of his heroic half-brother. Since a direct assault was frowned upon by Zeus, Ares had recalled the vow Finias had made to him…and had determined to once again make use of those handy, ever-flowing tears. Earlier in the day, he'd handed the tavern-keeper the small vial of liquid and instructed Finias to add the potion to the water the demigod would ask for in lieu of ale at some point during the evening's celebrations. Though the tears would work just as well in the ale, there was no way to guarantee which mug the demigod would drink from and which would be scarfed by his noble little friend. But, Ares knew his brother well, and knew Hercules wouldn't have more than a single ale and then he'd move on to water. And, true to form, Hercules had just asked the barmaid for a mug of water to go with his helping of stew, leaving Iolaus to enjoy both the mugs of ale she'd just deposited on their table.

Finias absently acknowledged the request she delivered to him, his eyes barely shifting to meet Ares' gaze before he pulled the small vial from under the bar and tipped its contents into the mug before he turned to the barrel in the corner and filled it with a ladle of water. Though he felt a twinge of guilt given the hero had just saved the village from a rampaging monster, his vow to Ares superceded all other considerations. The unsuspecting barmaid collected the mug from the bar and bore it to the demigod at the far table, smiling at the handsome hero when he looked up and thanked her.

Ares watched as Hercules took a healthy swallow before taking another spoonful of the fragrant stew. His eyes narrowed in concern as he listened to the demigod murmur absently that the water tasted a little salty, wondering if one gulp would be enough. But, then, he relaxed when Iolaus reassured the demigod that it was probably just the seasoning of the stew he was tasting. Nodding in agreement, Hercules forgot his momentary impression and continued with his meal. Once Hercules had finished off the mug of water, Ares nodded briefly to the tavern-keeper, then stood to make his way into the night.

It was done.

'Perfect, absolutely perfect,' the God of War gloated to himself as he sauntered out into the darkness. The prohibition against killing Hercules prevented him from taking a direct action. The few times he'd tried to use an intermediary with the promise of reward, Zeus had taken him to task…such action was tantamount to a direct intervention in his father's view. But, this time, he'd promised nothing. Finias had wanted to do him a favour. Choosing to act, the act itself, were fully Finias' own responsibility. From this time forward until his death in a month's time, if he lasted that long given the hazards of a hero's life, Hercules would be indifferent to everything and everyone around him, including his own well-being. Chuckling a little coldly, Ares wondered if he might score two for the price of one. A month was a long time in the company of an indifferent demigod. With a little luck, the runt wouldn't survive either.

* * *

Hercules felt his mood of relaxed enjoyment drain away, leaving him feeling oddly flat. Suddenly, he wondered why they were wasting time in this noisy tavern, his normal reluctance to be feted for his help transforming into irritation with having to waste any more time here. "You about done?" he asked Iolaus abruptly, intervening before his friend could order yet another ale.

"Huh?" Iolaus asked, startled by the tone as he turned back to Hercules. "Why…did you want to go?"

"Yeah, if it's all the same to you," the demigod replied coldly, his voice as flat as his expression.

Frowning, Iolaus leaned over the table to examine his friend more closely. "Herc…are you feeling all right?" he asked, concern shading his voice. A moment ago, Hercules had been smiling and relaxed, at peace with the world. Now, he looked distant, remote…disconnected.

"I'm fine," Hercules replied abruptly. "I'd just like to move on."

"Okay," Iolaus shrugged, agreeable. Maybe Herc was just tired. He didn't much care for crowds at the best of times and really hated being the centre of attention. Together, they stood and made their way from the tavern, Iolaus replying cheerfully to the called greetings and thanks of the villagers as they left, Hercules silent, almost stony, as he ignored everyone around him.

Iolaus led the way to the small inn, commenting as they ambled along, "I'm assuming you aren't in a rush to leave town. It would be a shame to miss out on a chance for a free bed in a comfortable inn."

"Whatever," Hercules responded carelessly. It made no difference to him where they slept.

Iolaus cut the demigod a quick glance, wondering again at the odd tone and the empty expression on his friend's face. It was as if Herc wasn't quite there. "You're sure you feel all right?" he asked again, wondering if he'd missed something back in the bar. It wasn't like Hercules to be so…remote.

"I'm fine," the demigod replied again as they entered the inn. They'd been granted the luxury of their own rooms for the night, so Iolaus wished his friend a good night as Hercules turned into his own chamber. But the door closing in his face was the only response he received.

'What's that about?' he wondered as he crossed the hall to his own room. Closing the door softly, he ran fingers through his curls and then rubbed the back of his neck as he recalled the events of the evening. For the life of him, he couldn't come up with anything to explain Hercules' abrupt change in mood. "He must just be tired," the warrior mumbled to himself as he stripped off his boots, vest and leather pants and sponged off the dust and grime of the road with the water thoughtfully left by the innkeeper's wife. Sighing with peaceful contentment at the feel of the crisp cotton sheets and feather mattress and pillow, Iolaus let his concerns drift away as he slipped into Morpheus' realm.

* * *

The next morning, Hercules' mood still seemed oddly flat. Hungry, he was agreeable enough to Iolaus' recommendation that they get breakfast in the inn's dining room before they left town, and not having any particular desire to head in a specific direction, he acceded to the suggestion that they head further north. Iolaus knew of a great fishing spot on a stream near Karpentia that he'd been wanting to visit again for some time. Since they were currently free of any demands for help and there were no wars to stop, it seemed like a good time to head into the hills for a little rest and relaxation.

Indifferent, Hercules ambled along beside Iolaus as they headed out of town, leaving the road after a mile or so to cut through the pine forest that covered the hills. One place was as good as another, and Iolaus was a good hunter so keeping company with him meant that food wouldn't be a problem. In a remote way, Hercules was vaguely aware that his view of the world, and of Iolaus as a convenience rather than as a friend, was out of kilter but he couldn't summon up sufficient interest to care enough about it to think the situation through.

For his part, Iolaus was aware that something wasn't right. Hercules was even quieter than usual, contributing exactly nothing to the conversation as they sauntered along. If anything, he'd caught a vague look of annoyance on his friend's face, as if his constant chatter was irritating, so he subsided. Striding along in silence, Iolaus tried to work out what could be ailing Hercules, but he didn't seem to be sick. There was no indication of fever, and he hadn't been hurt in the confrontation with the monster. There'd been no blows to his head. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong exactly…just that something wasn't right.

It took them two days to reach the stream with the bountiful fish, and in all that time, Hercules had barely spoken, as if his mind was somewhere else, preoccupied with thoughts he wasn't interested in sharing. Finally, over the campfire after a day spent fishing in silence…well, Iolaus had fished while Hercules had drowsed in the sun, Iolaus looked across the flames at his friend and demanded, "What in Tartarus is wrong with you, any way?"

Turning cool eyes and a bland expression to meet his friend's troubled gaze, Hercules shrugged as he replied, "There's nothing wrong with me." He couldn't be bothered to ask why Iolaus thought something was wrong…who cared what Iolaus thought?

"Uh, uh," Iolaus replied, shaking his head, determined to get to the bottom of this. "You're not getting off that easily. For the past three days, you've been acting like some kind of zombie. As if you're not really here…like you could care less about what's going on around you. That's not you, Herc…so something must be bothering you. Or, maybe, you're sick or something..." When Hercules still didn't reply, Iolaus encouraged in a soft, cajoling tone, "Come on, buddy, talk to me."

The demigod just shrugged again as he finally replied with a flat voice, "There's nothing wrong. I'm just…bored, I guess. If I don't seem interested in much, I guess it's because there's nothing much to be interested in."

"Well, gee, thanks a heap, buddy. Sorry I've been boring you," Iolaus replied sarcastically, stung a bit by the demigod's words.

"Whatever," Hercules answered indifferently as he laid down with his back to the fire and went to sleep.

Iolaus leaned back on his elbows as he studied Hercules thoughtfully, a scowl of concern on his face. Blowing out a long breath, he wondered if he'd done something that had offended or angered his best friend. But, he couldn't think of anything. Herc had been fine, happy even…and then he'd just gone cold. It couldn't have been anything in the food or ale…they'd eaten and drunk the same things. Again, he considered the monster, but the beast hadn't had any poisoned stinger things growing out of any of its many appendages or tails. It had just been big, mean and ill-tempered. Nothing unusual. Nothing that would be affecting Hercules now.

What in Tartarus was going on?

* * *

Somehow fishing with someone who acted as if you aren't really there isn't a lot of fun, so Iolaus decided to pack it in after a couple of days of fruitless efforts to engage his friend in conversation, to distract Hercules with various activities like wrestling, hunting or swimming or to figure out what was eating at the demigod. Basically, Hercules just ignored him, acting as if he was hardly there except when he wanted something, like dinner. Then he expected Iolaus to do the fishing or hunting required to supply the main course…and even then, he didn't seem that interested in eating. It was beginning to really irritate the hunter, and he might have given way to his frustration except for the fact that he was more worried than angry.

This wasn't Hercules. It was as if some stranger had taken up residence in the demigod's body, and for a couple of hours, Iolaus pondered over whether that could, in fact, be what had happened. But then he gave himself a mental kick. He was being ridiculous…this was Herc, all right. Just a flat, indifferent Herc. As if he was under a spell or something…

And, that thought caught hold. 'A spell? Could that be it? Is this something caused by one or more gods?' Iolaus wondered as he gazed thoughtfully at his friend while they ambled along a back country trail.

"Hercules," he said aloud, "Tell me how you're feeling."

"Why?" asked the demigod, not sounding as if he cared if Iolaus answered or not.

"Because, trust me, buddy, you're not yourself. Something is definitely wrong and I'm beginning to wonder if you've been hexed by a god or a witch or something," Iolaus replied acerbically.

Thinking about that, feeling a very faint pang of worry, Hercules turned his gaze to Iolaus' concerned blue eyes. Iolaus knew him as well as anyone did, and if Iolaus thought he was under some kind of spell, maybe he was. "I don't feel much of anything," he replied to the question his friend had posed. "Kinda numb, actually. So long as I have what I want or need, I'm not particularly interested in anything else."

Frowning, Iolaus turned away as he thought about that. "If it's a spell, it's an odd one," he muttered to himself.

Looking away, Hercules sighed. "Maybe I'm just tired of worrying about other people's problems. Maybe I just want to take care of myself for a while," he said as he tried to get a handle on what it was that did interest him. But, when he thought about it, he realized he didn't even much care what happened to himself let alone the rest of the world. It was as if everything had gone gray, and vague, of no import…even moving, breathing, seemed to be more effort than it was worth.

"You see," Iolaus rejoined, turning back to face his friend. "That's just it…you wouldn't ever say something like that, feel something like that. You never put yourself ahead of other people…never turn away from anyone who needs you."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I've had enough," the demigod replied before lapsing back into silence.

Iolaus gaped at him, then shook his head. If this was a bad mood, he hoped it would wear off soon. If it was something more permanent, he didn't have a clue what to do about it.

But, this was Hercules…no matter what was wrong with him, he couldn't really mean that he didn't care anymore. As soon as someone needed their help, Herc would be back in fighting form, Iolaus was sure of it. Swallowing, he rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, hoping he was right…hoping that something would happen soon to shake Hercules out of this weird coldness and indifference.

* * *

Another week passed, and Iolaus was at his wits' end. Nothing he did or said seemed to make the least difference to the demigod. He'd tried recounting memories of good times and even of some of the more tragic events of their past. Nothing. He'd tried telling jokes. Nothing. He'd racked his brain for conversational topics that would be of interest to Hercules, everything from debating whether the world was flat to the value of the gods in the greater scheme of things. At best, he'd get a noncommittal grunt but that was about all. He'd tried singing off-key knowing that usually drove Hercules to distraction, but that had no more effect than silence. It had gotten to the point where Iolaus had to cajole him to eat anything, even fruit, and had to remind him to drink enough water to keep going. If it wasn't so damned scary, it might have been funny.

For his own part, Hercules knew something was wrong. When Iolaus conjured up the memories, he could picture what had occurred, even sense a bit of what he'd felt, or must have felt, at the time. But, it was as if he was wrapped in a gray shroud, the world around him muffled and distant, of no consequence. Intellectually, he knew he ought to be worried about it, even frightened, but he felt nothing and couldn't work up enough emotion to care one way or the other about what was happening. He could see that Iolaus was upset, scared that something was badly wrong, but he couldn't find anything in himself to reach out, to reassure or even regret how his 'friend' was feeling. Even that, the concept that Iolaus was his best friend held no meaning for him anymore. He was just another guy, going in the same direction, no more than that.

Iolaus was so relieved when the gang of bandits erupted from the trees around them that he could have kissed them. Finally, a distraction, something to shock Hercules out of his numb indifference! Still, as the bad guys surrounded them, and demanded their valuables, Iolaus felt he should warn them off before they got hurt.

"Trust me," he quipped, daring to grin at the sullen lot, "you don't want to do this. My friend, here, is Hercules and I'm Iolaus…we eat guys like you for breakfast. So…I'd advise you to let us pass."

Predictably, they just jeered at him and drew their weapons to wave them about in a threatening manner. Rolling his eyes and lifting his hands in a helpless shrug, Iolaus looked up at Hercules as he said, "Well, I guess there's no choice…we'll have to beat them up and drag them to the nearest lock-up."

The look on his best friend's face didn't reassure Iolaus. Hercules sighed wearily as he looked around at the ten leatherclad aggressive men who threatened their lives and wondered idly why he didn't care. When the bandits lunged at them, Iolaus cried out, "Fight, dammit!" so Hercules did, in a minimalist, off-hand kind of way.

While Iolaus swung his pack to knock out one guy, immediately throwing himself forward, tumbling to knock two off their feet, rolling back up to clip their heads hard with his boot, and then tossed dirt up to blind a third while he punched the man hard, then whirled to kick him sharply, knocking him unconscious, Hercules tossed one bandit who came at him into the trees. Indifferent, the demigod noticed two guys had grabbed Iolaus, pinning his arms back while another pounded his head and body viciously, but he felt no impulse to help. Iolaus shook his head to clear it, and spotted a goon armed with a knife coming at Herc's back. The blond warrior yelled sharply, "Behind you!" even as he used the guys holding him for support to kick the man in front then rolled up and over behind his two assailants, clubbing one into unconsciousness and dropping to swing a leg out to trip the other, the hard fall winding the bandit long enough for Iolaus to spin away from yet another attacker who came at him with a knife.

But, he wasn't quite quick enough and felt the burning slash of the blade grazing along his ribs. Jumping back, away from the knife, Iolaus was vaguely aware that Hercules had elbowed the guy behind him, hard enough to break a few ribs. When he saw Herc strong arm punch a third man, snapping the bandit's head back hard, knocking him into next week, Iolaus realized the demigod was barely bothering to pull his punches. Herc was just reacting, without thought…without care.

His momentary distraction was interrupted by the burn of a long deep cut along his left arm. With a startled yelp of pain, Iolaus returned his own concentration to the battle at hand. Kicking out, he disarmed his attacker, then whirled, kicking higher to connect with the man's head, rendering him unconscious.

Staggering a little, breathing hard, Iolaus looked around and realized all their attackers were out for the count. Gingerly, he touched his bleeding lip and then checked out the gash along his ribs which was also bleeding freely, as was the deep slash to his left arm. His head was pounding from the blows he'd taken and he had to shake it again to clear it…but when he stumbled dizzily, he decided that probably wasn't the best idea. He needed to stop the bleeding, and fairly quickly before it weakened him further. Looking around dazedly, he spotted his pack and stumbled over to it, dropping hard to his knees to rummage in it for some rags and linen bandages.

"You want to give me a hand here, big guy," he called to Hercules, who was still standing in the same spot he'd occupied when they'd first been attacked. Gods, Herc hadn't moved an inch, dealing only with those who had come directly at him.

Looking up, Iolaus felt a chill settle around his heart at the cold, indifferent look in his friend's eyes. Hercules was gazing at his wounds with all the interest he'd show for a squashed bug and was making no move to be helpful. "Hercules," Iolaus called again, "I need help binding this arm."

Shrugging, the demigod looked away and with a tearing feeling inside, Iolaus finally realized he was completely on his own. Hercules could care less if he bled to death here in the dust of an isolated forest path. With a muttered curse, he wrapped a long bandage around his arm as tightly as he could to staunch the bleeding, then pressed a pad of rags against the deepest part of the wound on his left side. Awkwardly, he managed to loop another long strip of linen around his body to hold the pad in place and returned his attention to his injured arm, loosening the improvised tourniquet and breathing out a long sigh of relief when he saw the bleeding had slowed. Rummaging some more in his kit, he found a packet of herbs. Ripping it open with his teeth, he scattered the dry crumbled homespun medicine on the wound, then wrapped it with another long strip of linen. Pulling out a large rag, he fashioned a crude sling and tied his left arm tight to his body, to add to the pressure on the wound along his side.

Throughout it all, he couldn't look at Hercules and had to blink several times to clear the unwanted tears from his eyes. 'It's just the shock,' he told himself, 'of the wounds.' He wouldn't be close to losing control simply because Herc clearly didn't seem to care a fig about him…he couldn't accept the truth of that terrible reality. But, as he trembled with the memory of that cold indifference in Hercules' eyes, he knew they were in deep trouble. Herc loved him, he knew that. Gods, Herc would die for him…this icy remoteness, this gut-wrenching realization that not even the threat of attack or of injury was enough to jar Hercules out of whatever funk he was in left Iolaus panting for breath as he fought to control the riotous emotions he felt…fear, despair and a sense of being more alone than he'd ever felt before.

Finally, he stood and hitched the pack over his shoulder. "Come on," he said with a calm that took all he had, "let's get out of here."

Leading off, Iolaus glanced back once to reassure himself that Hercules was following, and then he just concentrated on getting them as far away from the unconscious bandits as fast he could go. Without Hercules' help, he couldn't guard them all, not wounded as he was. They'd over-power him as soon as they regained consciousness. Much as he hated to leave them to attack other unwary travelers, he didn't have a choice. For Herc's safety, and his own, they just needed to get away.

Hercules plodded after Iolaus, trying to hold onto his intellectual awareness that he was acting bizarrely. Rationally, he knew he should have helped his companion deal with the bandits, particularly when Iolaus had gotten hurt. The voice in his mind kept telling him that something was wrong, that he should be fighting it somehow…but emotionally, he couldn't connect with any of it. He just didn't care. Not about what happened to Iolaus…not about what happened to himself. It left him feeling dislocated and confused.

But, just as he hadn't been able to summon up concern for Iolaus, nor could he feel any concern about the knife in his back, high in his right shoulder. Not even the pain registered as anything more than a vague annoyance.

* * *

Aphrodite's jaw tightened with concern as she watched the battle and its aftermath play out. Her eyes sparkled with a grim intelligence as she crossed her arms and thought about what she'd just observed. There was something very wrong with her little brother and it was going to get him and Sweetcheeks killed if they weren't careful. Frowning, she considered the cold indifference she'd witnessed and then let her mind ramble over other odd little things she'd noticed in the last while. Ares was much too cheerful recently, positively chipper, as he smirked and gloated with secret smiles of treacherous self-satisfaction. He was up to something, no doubt about it…and he clearly thought he was getting away with it, whatever it was. Zeus was like a bear lately, grouching around, snapping and snarling at the least little thing, casting suspicious glances at Ares with dark, brooding eyes that boded ill for the God of War if Zeus figured out what he was up to. And, Apollo, normally so manic, was positively hysterical lately, mumbling incoherently whenever Zeus glowered at him that it wasn't 'his fault'.

Finally, the disjointed ramblings of her mind clicked together and she started with dismay. "Oh my," she murmured. "This is not good."

Having figured out what was probably going on, Aphrodite then began to plot how she might be of some help. The rules about non-interference were quite clear, and normally she'd shrug, feel bad maybe, but accept there was nothing she could do. But, Apollo irritated her beyond words and she really, really didn't enjoy Ares in his 'cat got the cream' mood of superiority. And, if Herkie died, there would be no living with Zeus for centuries. Damn…there had to be a way to fix this mess.

* * *

Iolaus pressed on longer than he knew he should have given his weakened state. He'd lost too much blood and heavy hammers were still pounding in his head. And, if he wasn't mistaken, a fever was starting. Not good. Definitely not good. But, he needed to get someplace where he could clean his wounds and rest for a few days, so he struggled on, stumbling more frequently as the day wore on.

Hercules plodded along a half-step behind him, silent and remote as ever. Finally, dizzy, Iolaus grabbed hold of one of his friend's arms to hold himself upright. He felt the demigod flinch at his touch, and his heart twisted at the indifference, more, the disgust that seemed to emanate from the demigod at his need for support.

"Like it or not," Iolaus grunted, "you're going to help me stay on my feet until I find a place for us to camp."

"Why?" Hercules asked distantly.

"Why what?" snapped a very tired and hurting warrior.

"Why do I have to help you? Why should I care what happens to you?" Hercules clarified with all the emotion of a stone.

"Because I say so, that's why," Iolaus replied as coldly. He hurt too much and was too tired to debate the matter, and Hercules wasn't interested enough to pursue the conversation. It was only then, as he shifted to loop his good arm around Hercules' waist for support that Iolaus was aware of the stickiness of blood on the back of Herc's shirt. Stumbling to a halt, he pushed Hercules around and then gasped at the sight of the blade lodged in his friend's back.

"For the gods' sake, Hercules, why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Iolaus demanded, furious and frightened as he pushed the demigod down to kneel in front of him.

"It didn't seem important," Hercules replied distantly.

Rolling his eyes, Iolaus studied the injury for a moment, then dug into his pack for more bandages. "I'm going to pull out the blade and it might hurt," he warned, but got no response. Swiftly, but carefully, he withdrew the knife and tossed it away, moving quickly to staunch the blood that bubbled out of the wound. While he waited for the pressure to slow the bleeding, he said quietly, "Herc…you have to tell me when you're hurt…you have to let me help you."

"It's not important," the demigod replied stonily.

"Like hell it isn't!" Iolaus growled. "What did you plan to do…walk until you collapsed?"

Hercules just shrugged. The truth was, he hadn't thought about it. Iolaus blew out a long breath, then bandaged the wound. He had to use Hercules' undershirt, torn into strips to anchor the wad of linen he padded over the wound because he just didn't have any more bandages or rags left. Shaking his head as he tied off the impromptu bandage, he bit his lip with worry. What should have been a simple fight had left them both walking wounded. He had to figure out what was going on with Hercules and fix it soon or maybe next time they wouldn't get off as lucky.

Finally, they came to a stream sheltered by trees and Iolaus sank gratefully down beside it. He pulled Hercules down beside him and washed and rebandaged the demigod's wound before caring for his own. When he'd finished with Hercules, hoping his best friend's godgiven powers of healing hadn't also disappeared, he directed, "Find some dead wood and start a fire…and don't give me any of that 'why' business…just do it."

When Hercules moved off to do his bidding, however unenthusiastically, Iolaus pulled the bloody rags from his pack and soaked them in the stream to clean them, then laid them on a rock to dry to be used as fresh bandages in the morning. Gingerly, he loosened and unwrapped the bandages on his body, having to soak his arm to delicately pull off the linen that was stuck to the dried blood of the wound. He shivered from the shock of the cold water against his fevered skin, and felt a wave of nausea but fought it back as he grimly completed his chore. Exhausted after rewrapping the filthy, blood-encrusted bandages around his arm and body, he leaned back against the trunk of a tree and took a gulp from his waterskin. Sighing, he looked up and around, glad to see that Hercules had returned with some wood and had gotten a fire started. Wearily, he supposed he should fish for their supper, but he was just too damned tired…and not in the least bit hungry, which he wryly concluded wasn't a particularly good sign.

Grimacing, Iolaus used the trunk for leverage to push himself to his feet and he moved stiffly over to sit across the fire from Hercules. The demigod gave him a look which left the warrior wondering if he'd suddenly become invisible, his friend's gaze seeming to pass right through him. Shaking his head, he said, "We are in real trouble here, Hercules…and I need some help figuring out what to do about it."

"Trouble?" the demigod repeated, with a slight crease between his brows as he tried to care about whatever it was Iolaus was talking about.

"Yeah, big trouble," Iolaus repeated. "Herc…there is something seriously wrong with you and I don't have a clue as to how to help you."

"I'm fine," Hercules shrugged indifferently, looking away.

"You're NOT fine," Iolaus retorted. "You're…acting very strangely, my friend. Gods, you were walking around with a knife sticking out of your back! Frankly, you're scaring me. Come on, help me out here. We have to figure out what's happened to you and what we need to do to make you better."

Hercules could hear the plaintive tone, could see how agitated Iolaus was, how sincere was his concern, but it had no reality for him. However disturbing this seemed to be for the blond warrior, the situation held no interest for the demigod. It was an effort to even bother to respond. Finally Hercules replied with evident ennui, "I have no idea what is going on, nor do I care. If it bothers you, work it out for yourself."

"Errggghhh!" Iolaus grumbled in frustration as he pushed his fingers through his curls. "This is RIDICULOUS! Gods, what am I supposed to do here, would you tell me that! Someone, anyone…explain to me what is going on!" he cried out to the heavens, though he expected no answer. Hercules simply looked at him as if HE was the one who had taken leave of his senses.

As a wave of helplessness washed over him, Iolaus felt as if he could weep with anger and frustration. He knew his fever was worsening, and the wounds could well go bad on him. Though Hercules' shoulder seemed to be a clean wound that would mend on its own, there was no way to really tell for sure. They needed to find a healer. But, Hercules was growing ever more reluctant to do anything or go anywhere. If they ran into more trouble, Iolaus was on his own and he knew it, but he didn't know why or how to make anything better. At his wits' end, with Herc sitting there wrapped in bland indifference, Iolaus could feel himself spiraling into abject despair. Gods, what could he do to get Hercules back to normal?

Lowering his head, his knees pulled up to his chest, his right hand covering eyes that insisted on misting up, struggling to swallow the massive lump in his throat, he whispered despondently, "Please, someone, help me…"

"Gosh, Curly, you're not looking so good," Aphrodite murmured quietly as she shimmered into view amidst a glimmer of pink sparkles.

Iolaus' head jerked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide with unexpected hope, the expression on his face poignant with the sudden sense of reprieve that he felt at her sudden appearance in response to his unconscious prayer. "'Dite," he whispered, his voice hoarse, unable to say more.

"Tch, tch, tch," she clicked her tongue in dismay at the sight of the bloody bandages and the flush of fever on his cheeks. Cutting her brother a narrowed glance of speculation, she muttered, "You're being of no help whatsoever, are you?"

Hercules looked her up and down with cool and austere appraisal, rolled his eyes and deliberately turned his face away, not bothering to respond. Whatever she thought, or had to say, was of no consequence to him. He just wished the whole world would go away and leave him alone.

"Hmm," she murmured at his behaviour, noticing the stricken look on Iolaus' face as he shook his head and sighed.

"He's been like this for almost two weeks now," the warrior explained. "I don't know why or what to do about it." Turning to look up at the goddess, he continued quietly, "I'm afraid for him."

"I know," Aphrodite replied as she moved to kneel by Iolaus. Clean bandages appeared at her feet, and a basin of rose perfumed water materialized next to them. "You've taken pretty good care of little brother over there, but you are a mess…that bandage around your arm needs changing. Let me see if I can get you cleaned up a little."

"What?" Iolaus replied, startled. "But…you never…I mean, you're not supposed to get involved…"

Shrugging unconcernedly, Aphrodite answered airily as if it wouldn't be more in character for her to scrunch up her face at the ickiness of the wound, "I'm not supposed to use any of our mystical, magical powers to intervene, so I can't waggle my fingers and make the owies disappear, but there's nothing that says I can't do what any mortal would do…I happen to have some linen here, and I think it would be better used on your wounds than left lying on the ground…don't you?"

"Uh, yeah…thanks," he replied, amazed at her gentleness as she unwrapped the filthy linen from his body and tossed it away. Carefully, she bathed the injuries, wincing a little in sympathetic pain at their ugliness.

As she worked over him, the goddess mused almost absently, as if simply filling the time, "I wonder, Sweetcheeks, if you've ever heard the story of the weeping maiden?"

Puzzled, he shook his head. "No, I don't think so," Iolaus replied. Hercules was acting as if neither of them were even there.

"Well, a very long time ago, a young woman killed her father in self-defence after he'd already murdered her mother and older sister. No one in her village ever helped the family or tried to stop his abuse…they even stoned her for having saved herself. She cursed them for their indifference, cursed the whole world actually, with the hope that all mortals would suffer the pain she'd suffered alone. Her name was Catalina and she lived in the village of Parthia, deep in the hills to the northwest. Anyway, she was turned into a statue, the only evidence of her mortality the tears that pour perpetually down her face. It's said that anyone who drinks her tears will be cursed with utter indifference to everything around them…and a month after having tasted her tears, they will die…."

Iolaus paled and he felt the air tight in his chest as he looked from her to Hercules. "Oh no…" he groaned. Gods, it was worse than he could ever have imagined…Herc was going to die? It couldn't be possible. This couldn't be happening. Breathless with the fear that filled his heart, he looked back at Aphrodite. "What…what can be done…I mean…there must be some way of…"

But his voice died away at the terrible sadness in her eyes as she shook her head. "I don't think there is any cure," she whispered quietly. "It's a very sad story…I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, his jaw tight with resolution, Iolaus replied sharply, "I can't accept that! There has to be some way…gods, a month. That only leaves me two weeks to get him there…" His eyes lost focus as he began to plot out what to do next.

"Whoa, Curly…you can't hope for too much…" she cautioned.

"I can hope for anything," he replied staunchly. "Specifically, I can hope that someone there knows of some antidote or cure. I'll appeal to this 'weeping maiden' if I have to…surely there has to be a way. Dammit, 'Dite," he sighed plaintively, "I can't just watch him fade away."

The goddess brushed his hair back from his forehead and gently stroked his cheek as she murmured, "No, I guess you can't. If anyone can find a way to stop the power of her tears, it'll be you, Sweetcheeks." Smiling a little, she added teasingly, "I don't know of any woman who could resist you."

"Thanks, Aphrodite," he replied quietly, and she knew it was for the clue she'd given him about what was happening, not for the compliment however sincerely it may have been meant.

But, she just held up her hands as if denying there was any reason for gratitude as she stood and stepped away from him. "Don't thank me…I haven't really done anything…just told you an old story. It might not have anything to do with what's happened to Hercules…I don't honestly know. I just…" Her voice faltered as she turned her gaze on her favourite brother, "I just hate seeing him like this."

"Yeah…I know what you mean," muttered Iolaus whole-heartedly as he, too, gazed at the unresponsive demigod. When he looked up again, she was gone.

Sighing, the warrior returned his gaze to his friend. Hercules had lain down beside the fire and appeared to have gone to sleep, completely indifferent to his sister's presence or their conversation. "Two weeks," Iolaus said to himself as he tried to remember where the village was. He'd never been there, but it seemed to him they'd passed it by once several years ago. It was a long way to the north, with rugged terrain between here and there. "Gods…I have to get him there…I have to find a way…."

* * *

"Time to get up, Bright Eyes," Iolaus called as he nudged the sleeping demigod with the toe of his boot. The sun had only just appeared on the eastern horizon, and the air was still chill with the damp of the night, dew glittering in the grass around them. He'd awakened stiff and sore, but the fever was gone and he wondered what had been in the water Aphrodite had used to bathe his wounds. Whatever it was, it had helped. And he was very grateful. He still felt a little woozy from the loss of blood, but he could travel and that was what mattered. He had to hope that Herc's great strength would be enough to let him cope with his own wound. They had a long way to go. "Come on, Herc, rise and shine."

"Mmmpphhh," mumbled the demigod, not pleased to be urged into wakefulness. "What's the rush?"

"The rush is, you're dying and we need to get you to the place where I can find someone to help you," Iolaus explained sharply, again nudging the demigod with his boot.

Irritated, Hercules pushed his foot away, refusing to be cajoled into wakefulness. "Who cares?" he mumbled, wanting only to lose himself in the darkness of insensibility.

"I do, even if you don't," Iolaus replied sternly as he bent over and grabbed a muscular arm, leaning back to pull Hercules into a sitting position. "Get up…we're leaving now."

Shrugging him off, Hercules gazed at him with empty eyes. "Listen…don't you get it? I don't care. Why don't you just leave me alone!" he stated with cold deliberation.

"Well, I don't care that you don't care," Iolaus retorted with frustrated irritation. "We've a long way to go and no time to waste. So get up off your butt, hero. You're going if I have to drag you every step of the way."

The demigod studied his determined comrade for a long moment then shrugged. It wasn't worth the energy to fight about it and whether he stayed here or walked somewhere else mattered little to him. If Iolaus would stop nattering at him, it would be worth the effort to get up and go with him. "Fine," he eventually replied with ill grace as he stood and followed the warrior from the small glade by the stream.

* * *

It was a long, difficult journey, with Hercules having to be shivvied and harried virtually every step of the way. It didn't help in the first week of their travels that Iolaus lacked his usual effortless energy. As each day dragged on while they toiled over steep hills and through thick forests, he found himself stumbling in exhaustion. Though the wounds were healing, he needed rest not a forced march and his stamina faltered each day long before he'd allow himself to quit. To keep going through the long afternoons and early evening so long as the light held, the warrior found himself having to lean on an unresponsive and unhelpful demigod, virtually forcing Hercules to support his faltering steps.

Aching with weariness each night, having to then see to their food, for Hercules could care less whether he ate or starved to death, Iolaus despaired of getting to the small, isolated village in time. And every step of the way, 'Dite's words and the look in her eyes haunted him. She didn't think there was any cure.

And that terrified him.

'How was Herc poisoned anyway?' he wondered, thinking back to the town where all this had started. It was far behind them now, a far distance away from this weeping stone maiden. With nothing else to do but stumble onward and think about the horror of their situation, his mind went over and over that fateful evening. Herc had been fine, laughing and teasing him…and then cold, like a candle blown out leaving darkness, as fast as that. They'd had ale and stew…and then he remembered. Hercules had had a mug of water…and he'd complained of a salty taste. Gods…somehow the tears had been carried to that place and mixed with the water.

It couldn't have been an accident. It had to have been deliberate. Hera? Strife? Discord? Ares? The list of possible guilty parties wasn't short of names. Any of them might have done this to get Hercules out of the way. Muttering, he cursed as he walked, tasting the bile of hatred in the back of his throat.

He'd given up trying to hold any kind of discourse with Hercules. His best friend was an indifferent stranger who, if he felt anything at all, was resentful of Iolaus' determined efforts to keep him moving. Whenever he looked at Hercules, the warrior felt an almost desperate longing for their old, easy camaraderie. He missed Herc, missed the teasing, the warmth of the steadfast friendship…and he was terribly afraid this wasn't the worst of it all. What would he do if there really wasn't a cure? How could he face seeing his best friend waste away, die of indifference? Iolaus would shudder with the imagined horror of his thoughts and then he'd stiffen his back, lift his head and steel himself for whatever was required. There had to be a way.

There just had to be something he could do once he got there.

But, first, they had to get there.

For Hercules, every step was an effort, an almost unimaginable act of will in the face of the empty indifference that filled his soul. He tried to pretend to himself that it mattered, that this journey had meaning. He could see that Iolaus was desperate to travel as fast as possible, pushing himself in that first week after he was wounded well past the boundaries of exhaustion. Hercules knew his companion was afraid for him and cared desperately about what was happening to him. Nor was he stupid. Whatever had been done to him hadn't dulled his intelligence. No, it had only stripped him of any interest in life. He knew he was dying…he believed Iolaus when his friend told him that. But, it didn't seem to matter. Nothing did. In a distant and vague way, intellectually he knew his behaviours and lack of any emotional response wasn't normal. But, he couldn't manufacture what wasn't there. Much as he tried to pretend, it just wasn't worth the effort.

So, he trudged on knowing Iolaus wouldn't let him quit, but unable to care one way or the other whether they got to where they were going or not. In the emptiness of his existence, Hercules felt only that it would be a relief to let it all go…life held no joy, no challenge, no purpose. It was a travesty of which he was heartily weary.

Once, about a week into their journey, the demigod just couldn't imagine going any further. In a quandary of apathetic indifference mingled with his intellectual awareness of the futility of it all, he tried to persuade Iolaus to simply abandon him to his fate.

"I'm tired," he muttered into the flames of their campfire. Raising his empty gaze to Iolaus' troubled eyes, Hercules continued wearily, "Why are you trying so hard? Why won't you just…just go and leave me be?"

"Oh, Hercules," Iolaus sighed, his heart breaking as he gazed back at his broken friend. "You'd do the same for me. We're best friends, closer than brothers. I can't stand seeing you like this."

Shaking his head, overwhelmed with a lethargy of the spirit, Hercules replied, "You don't understand. I just don't care any more. I feel empty inside…nothing matters. It's…it's exhausting and…futile. I don't want to go on like this."

"I know," Iolaus answered, his voice a little hoarse. "But, I care enough for both of us. That'll have to be enough for you, for now at least. I'm not going to let you just give up."

Looking way, the demigod nodded wearily in acknowledgement of a determination greater than his own desire to refuse to carry on. It wouldn't be much longer now in any case. Aphrodite said the poison killed within a month. There was only a week lacking of that span of time. Soon, he could let it all go, let the world and all its cares, all its demands and intrusions, drift away.

Soon, it would all be over…and it would be a relief when it was finally finished.

* * *

Hercules' wound had healed before the first week was passed and the wound over Iolaus' ribs healed cleanly, but his arm wasn't responding as well. It had been a deep slash, almost to the bone, and it continued to trouble him throughout their arduous journey. Nevertheless, as the days went by, his strength returned and he was able to pick up the pace, pushing ahead mercilessly, indifferent now to Hercules' apathy. It was the poison that was doing this to his best friend, it wasn't Herc, not really. So, he pushed away all sense of irritation and frustration, simply prodding, cajoling, shoving when necessary, to keep the demigod moving. He forced Hercules to drink enough water and eat enough food to keep up his strength. The simple fact of the matter was that Iolaus' will for Hercules to survive was greater, more powerful, than Hercules' indifference to his own well-being. By sheer stubborn determination, Iolaus kept his friend moving no matter how much Hercules wished only to be left alone.

Finally, as the fourth week was nearing its end, they came to the village of Parthia. Feeling the pressure of time, Iolaus stopped the first person they met, a shepherd, and demanded to know if there was a healer in town. Assured that there was, he got the directions to the old man's cottage and physically dragged Hercules into a faster pace as they strode along the narrow, dusty street.

Arriving at the cottage, Iolaus banged on the door, only too conscious that time was fast running out on them. An elderly, stooped and thin man finally responded to his impatient hammering, muttering with undisguised irritation, "All right, all right…what is it?"

"Good day to you," Iolaus began politely enough, but then launched immediately into the reason for their visit. "My name is Iolaus and this is my friend, Hercules. I have heard that there is a statue of a weeping maiden somewhere near here, and that her tears are poisonous…that consuming them creates indifference in the victim and eventually kills them. I have reason to believe my friend has been poisoned with these tears and I need to know how to cure him. So…I've brought him to you. What do we do now?"

Made speechless by this forthright demand for help, the healer gaped at Iolaus then turned his gaze to Hercules, who was slouched behind his friend, looking as if it was a burden to even stand there. Shaking his head, swallowing, the old man turned back to face the agitated blond man. "I'm sorry," he replied. "So far as I know, there is no cure for Catalina's curse. There is nothing I can do."

"Dammit," Iolaus cursed angrily. "That's not good enough."

Shrugging with indifference, the healer turned aside and made to close the door in Iolaus' face, but the warrior grabbed his arm and forced him back around to face him. "Look…there has to be something that can be done."

"There is nothing," the old man replied stonily, resenting this persistent demand for help that was beyond his power to give. "Go to the statue and plead your case. Mayhap she'll hear you…it's said that she's appeared from time to time over the centuries when others have pleaded with her. Though, to my knowledge, the legends say she's never shown mercy. She's a cold, heartless wraith, and that's the hard truth of it."

Iolaus bit back another fruitless curse, his eyes dark with resolve. "Fine, tell me where to find her," he directed, his voice tight.

Stepping out of his doorway, the healer pointed down the lane as he directed this willful stranger. "Go down to the end of the cottages, and then head back into the forest. You'll see the path. About a mile in, you'll come to a small clearing and a stream. You'll find her frozen remains there," he directed succinctly. "I wish you luck," he added almost grudgingly. "Though I think your mission is hopeless."

Iolaus blew out a long breath, then he turned wordlessly to take Hercules by the arm to march him along the lane and then out into the forest.

* * *

Hercules was fading fast…he'd gone a ghostly gray and sweat beaded on his brow. His breathing had been increasingly laboured for the last several hours, and now he was stumbling, barely able to stay on his feet. Iolaus had been shoving Hercules ahead of him but now he had to put an arm around his friend to support his sagging weight. The blond warrior moved them as fast as he could manage along the dim forest path until they at last came to the sparkling stream and the alabaster statue of the weeping maiden. For a moment, all the warrior could do was stare at her, stricken by the look of cold indifference frozen on her face and the spectacle of the all too human tears that leaked from her eyes, tracing an eternal path over her cheeks and dripping to the perpetually damp ground at her feet.

"Can't you see this is pointless?" Hercules demanded as he gazed into the face that reflected the stony emptiness he felt inside.

Ignoring him, Iolaus eased the demigod down against the trunk of a tree, then stepped forward to address the statue. "Catalina," he began resolutely, "We've come to beg you to lift the curse on my friend. Someone unknown poisoned him, through no fault of his own. He's a good man who has only helped others throughout the whole of his life. Please…have mercy and let him live."

There was no response, only the gurgling of the stream breaking the heavy silence of the glade.

Snorting, Hercules lowered his head to rest on the arms he'd crossed over his knees. "Will you give up now, Iolaus?" he murmured, weak and dizzy. It was finally over and he just wanted to sleep forever. "There's nothing you can do. It doesn't matter…she doesn't care any more than I do."

"I will not give up!" Iolaus snarled as he moved closer to the rigid shape of the weeping maiden. "Listen to me," he demanded. "Whatever terrible things that happened to you, Hercules does not deserve to die! Speak to me…tell me what you want."

Hercules lifted his heavy head and leaned it back against the tree, closing his eyes as if to separate himself from his companion's desperate and determined plea. He knew he should be moved by Iolaus' passionate desire to save his life, but…he was tired of the emptiness, weary of the indifference and simply wanted an end to it.

When there was still only silence, Iolaus gripped the shoulders of the unresponsive stone as if he would shake sense into her, force her to hear him. "There must be something you want…something we can do to satisfy you…tell me, dammit!" he cried.

The force of his emotion broke through her icy façade and there was a shimmering of the statue as her spirit woke and responded to him. Startled, Iolaus backed away as he watched the wraith of the young woman materialize into a translucent replica of the statue. "Catalina," he begged, "Please…tell me how to save my friend."

With flat, empty eyes, she gazed at him coldly. "Why should I care about your pitiful woes. I cursed this world and all who dwell in it long ago…the souls of such wretched creatures as your friend are forfeit to me and I demand their price for the pain I suffered."

Lifting a hand in supplication, Iolaus tried to reason with her, his tone pleading as he entreated, "Please, I beg you…I'll do anything you ask. Just…just free my friend from the curse that has been placed upon him. I promise you…he doesn't deserve this. Herc…Hercules is the best man I've ever known, greater than anyone who has ever lived. Greece needs him. There must be something I can offer you to placate you…anything…please…."

Her gaze shifted away as if she was already weary of this conversation. "I require a soul," she replied indifferent to his supplication. "I care not whose soul pays my price."

Iolaus swallowed as he looked away and considered her words.

A soul.

Any soul would do.

For a brief moment, he gazed at Hercules who was only too clearly dying in front of his eyes. All his life, all Iolaus had ever wanted to do was protect and help his friend as best he could. There was no time to think, but this wasn't something he needed to spend any time thinking about anyway. Iolaus knew what he needed to do. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his eyes back to hers as he asked soberly, "If I give you my soul, will you set him free?"

"Iolaus…would you let it go?" Hercules murmured distantly. "She's not interested in you or me, or in any kind of deal. It's finished. Enough." It was as far as he was able to go to dissuade his companion from such a senseless sacrifice. Truly, whether Iolaus lived or died wasn't really of interest to Hercules at that moment, but his tireless and passionate persistence was irritating. Sighing, Hercules could feel his life slipping away but he felt no desire to hold onto it.

Ignoring the demigod, Iolaus persisted when she didn't answer. "Well? I asked you a question and I'm offering you an alternative. Will you accept it?" he demanded, his throat dry, his voice rough with fear for his friend and the awareness of what he was offering to do.

Shifting her cold gaze back to his, she shrugged. "One soul is as good as another. If you give yours to me, to languish here for eternity, lost and alone such as is mine…then I will lift the curse from him," she replied, her voice hollow, void of any emotion or interest. So many had come before her, begging, entreating…this one was no different. When the moment came, his own self-interest would surface…he'd not die for his friend, most especially not when he knew his soul would either head straight to Tartarus or languish here forever with hers. No one would risk such an eternity. No one could possibly care that much in this empty, indifferent world.

Iolaus looked from her to Hercules, his eyes widening with alarm as he saw that his friend seemed to have lost consciousness. If he didn't act now, it would be too late to save Herc's life. Swallowing hard, Iolaus nodded, accepting the grim bargain. He reached for the knife in his boot, then paused. It was the blade he and Herc had crafted together. Gods, Hercules might not care in this moment, but when the curse was lifted, he'd be devastated by the price Iolaus had chosen to pay. To find his friend dead, by the knife they'd forged together, would be more than the demigod could bear.

Desperate, Iolaus cast about for another alternative, knowing well that he was fast running out of time. His gaze lighted upon a small bush and his breath caught in his throat.

Hemlock.

It would do.

Stumbling to his knees, he tore off a handful of leaves and lifted them to his lips. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then bit into them, chewing the bitter vegetation with stoic determination, forcing himself to swallow then biting off more. How much would be enough? As he heard Hercules' breathing deepen and slow, becoming uneven, Iolaus jammed more of the leaves into his mouth, chewing them quickly to release their venomous essence, almost gagging as he swallowed again. Desperate, he lifted his eyes to hers, whispering, "Please…let him go."

Even as he felt the numbness steal over him, he saw her eyes change…the coldness replaced by a look of surprised wonder. Then, wordlessly, she nodded once, her image dissipating as she vanished from the clearing. Suddenly, Iolaus felt so weak he was unable to stay upon his knees, and he sank forward, face down onto the ground a few steps away from the weeping statue, closer still to Hercules. The paralysis stole over him, more quickly than he'd imagined it would, but it was painless. He couldn't feel his legs and his hands were numb. Iolaus was conscious of his breathing slowing and becoming shallow and raspy as the muscles in his chest grew stiff. With the last of his strength, he turned his head so that he could see Herc…and he sighed with relief to see the colour coming back to his friend's face and heard Hercules' breathing even out and strengthen.

He'd made it in time. He'd found the way to save Herc's life.

It was all that mattered to him and he had no regret for the price he would pay.

As Iolaus watched, the world growing hazy and dim, Hercules gradually stirred and blinked, coming back to awareness. Intact memories rushed over the demigod, and he was almost swamped by the awareness of emotions again. As he struggled back to full consciousness, Hercules was appalled to realize he'd almost allowed himself to slip away and but for his best friend's determination, he would have died here. He didn't know how Iolaus had done it, but his buddy had saved him and he was smiling with relief and gratitude when he opened his eyes…only to see Iolaus lying prostrate on the ground, not three feet away.

"Oh gods," Hercules gasped as he lunged toward his friend, turning Iolaus and pulling him up into his arms. As he turned his friend over, the scraps of hemlock still locked in his friend's grip drew his eye and he cried out in horror, "What have you done?"

Iolaus' breathing was shallow, his face deathly gray as he blinked heavily then lifted his eyes to Hercules' stricken gaze. "She wanted a soul…didn't matter whose…" he whispered breathlessly as he struggled to smile reassuringly, but his face felt frozen and he could only gaze with compassionate understanding into Hercules' eyes. "No choice…couldn't let you…die…."

Overwhelmed, scarcely able to take in the magnitude of his friend's sacrifice, Hercules gripped Iolaus hard, as if he could hold him to life. Tears blurred the demigod's eyes, and his lips quivered as a tremor passed through Iolaus' body to find its echo in his own. "No, Iolaus…no," he whispered brokenly, shattered. "Not this…I never wanted this…"

"Worth it…" Iolaus sighed, his voice a mere breath, and then his body shuddered again in a small convulsion as the light faded from his eyes and his lids drooped closed.

"NOOOOO!!" Hercules screamed. "Don't you do this! Don't you leave me like this! Gods, Iolaus… noooo…."

But, his voice cracked and broke as tears slipped heedlessly down his ashen cheeks. "No," he protested again, in vain, as Iolaus drifted further away from him and he knew with a cold certainty that all the strength in the world wasn't enough to hold onto his friend's life. Shocked to the core of his soul, Hercules pulled Iolaus up against his chest as he bent his head to rest his chin on his best friend's head. "Please don't do this," he begged, knowing it was already too late.

Iolaus was dying and there was nothing he could do to save him.

A sudden fury borne of despair gripped the demigod's soul. Damn this wretched weeping maiden. Damn whoever had done this to them. He'd heard the story Aphrodite had told Iolaus though it hadn't moved him at the time. But, he didn't care about what that young girl might have suffered so long ago…he only cared that his best friend had been forced to a terrible choice to save him from the wretched curse. All the mattered right now was that Iolaus was dying because of her, because of her hate over something that had happened so long ago that those who had hurt her were long turned to dust.

Lifting his head, Hercules raged at the statue, "How can you do this, demand this? You who bore the pain of indifference…how can you stand to watch him die like this? For what? You cursed all who ever live for not caring about what happens to another human being. But you stand there in your frozen glory, and you take his soul…a soul freely offered because he cared so much about me he'd rather die himself than see me harmed! Where is the justice in that?"

Hercules paused as his voice caught, and he gazed down into his friend's pale face for a moment before he looked back up at her, his voice low and tight with pain as he continued, "Iolaus has devoted his life to helping others, perfect strangers, regardless of the risk, time and time again. He's a brave, compassionate, decent man who deserves your honour, not your contempt. What will it take for you to finally forgive what was done to you, to know that you and all those whose lives you've destroyed have suffered enough? Damn you…damn you for demanding this sacrifice. It's obscene, can't you see that? What more needs to be done to prove to you that all men are not like those who hurt you?"

Hercules' voice cracked and he panted for breath, stricken by the realization that there was nothing he could do or say to move that frozen, weeping statue of perfect indifference. In utter despair, he curled his body forward and around Iolaus, as if he could somehow impart his own warmth to ease the chill of death that was overtaking his friend.

"I love you, Iolaus," he whispered brokenly, the words thick with grief and aching sorrow, though he doubted his friend could still hear him. "I'm sorry… gods, I'm so very sorry. I don't want you to die…"

In silence, she stared at the frozen tableau at her feet struggling to reconcile centuries of disgust and hate with what she was witnessing now. One man dying, selflessly giving his life and soul out of love to save the life of his friend. The friend shattered with a grief so palpable that she felt rocked by it. In all the centuries, none before these two had ever come before her out of pure love for another. None had offered such a selfless and complete sacrifice to assuage her anguished demands for retribution. Never before had she seen a pain that mirrored her own terrible and tragic grief. The small blond warrior's sudden and unhesitating sacrifice, even knowing that his soul would be forever lost and alone, had startled her and shattered the indifference that cloaked her soul, leaving her speechless with wonder as she granted his request. The heart-rending anguish of his friend now melted the ice around her heart…and she wept in honest grief for another's pain, another's sorrow that finally superceded her own.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered as she shimmered into view. "I would save him for you, if I could."

Hercules shuddered at her words as he lifted his tear-stained face to hers. "He's my best friend…my brother. I can't stand this…I can't bear to know he's dying to save my life. It's not right."

"No, it isn't," she whispered helplessly as she shook her head, trembling with the horror of what she had wrought. She saw now that she'd become no better than those she had cursed, and by her words and demands, she was costing an innocent and valiant man his life…and his soul.

For even if she could release his soul, he'd be forever condemned as a suicide to the horrors of Tartarus.

Pity and grief filled her heart, driving out the indifference that had held her in thrall for so long. Guilt permeated her soul. She could not allow this to happen! Lifting her eyes to the sky, she raised her hands up over her head as she pleaded for intercession. "Apollo," she screamed with every fibre of her being, "if you still love me…come to me now."

Hercules gasped at her imprecation, startled and confused. What could that worthless ass Apollo have to do with any of this?

The golden god, so long bitter and angry, materialized in the clearing. His normally cold, even vicious, visage was strangely gentle as he gazed upon her and his lips quivered as he read the miracle in her eyes. Her soul had been freed from its prison of hate and despair, illuminated by a love that had penetrated through her wall of anguished pain.

"Catalina," he murmured, "what would you have me do?"

Turning from him, she waved toward Hercules and Iolaus. "Save that man's life, if you can," she implored. "He willingly offered his life and his soul to save his friend…I cannot accept such a sacrifice. I want him to live. Remove my curse from this world…I've occasioned enough pain to last forever. I want it to end now."

"As you wish," the God of Healing acceded to her demands, as he always had and always would for he loved her still and had never forgotten her though centuries had passed by in a weary procession of time.

Apollo turned to kneel across from Hercules and he placed his hands upon Iolaus' head. Bowing his own, he whispered, "Come back, Iolaus, and be well. You have wrought a miracle and warrant another in return."

Hercules felt warmth return to his best friend's body and looking down, saw colour again in Iolaus' face. The warrior's body shuddered as he took one long deep breath and then another, until his breathing settled into a normal rhythm. Hercules heaved a sigh of relief as he held his friend tightly against his chest. His heart too full with gratitude to speak, the demigod lifted his eyes to his much despised half brother, stunned with disbelieving amazement that Apollo would grant him such a precious gift…for that is what Iolaus' life was to him. A gift of such inexpressible magnitude that enriched and illuminated Hercules' life, making him whole, investing meaning and purpose and a strength far beyond his simple physical being.

Swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat, Hercules watched Apollo transform before his eyes from the wastrel he'd always known to a shining, compassionate being of golden light. This was an Apollo he had never seen, and the world had not known for too many long centuries. This was the Apollo that had been destined at his birth…a god of healing and hope, of compassion and warmth, responsive to the world and all in it who called upon him. The bitterness and cynicism was gone, burned away by the love the god felt for the soul of Catalina and his own gratitude for the miracle that had finally granted her wounded soul peace.

"You have no need to thank me, Hercules," he murmured quietly, tears glimmering in his crystal blue eyes as he divined the emotions that swelled within the demigod's heart. "It is I who must thank you and Iolaus for having accomplished what I could not do. My beloved Catalina can rest now. The love that binds your souls together has freed hers from the void of indifference that has held her frozen here for far too long. Believe me, brother, it is I who must be grateful."

Rising to his feet, Apollo turned back to Catalina and took her into his arms. Gently, with infinite love, he kissed her brow. "You may rest now, my love. Hades, my uncle, has been waiting a long time for your soul and for the souls of the others that have been trapped in this glade with you. You are all free now to go to him."

She rested against him, finally able to accept his love as it was offered, feeling a lightness of spirit she had never before known. Finally, she lifted her head and turned a gaze warm with gratitude toward Hercules and the man who drowsed still in his arms. "Thank you," she murmured quietly. "Thank you both for unfreezing my heart and setting my soul free."

She vanished then, and Apollo stood a moment in silence, his eyes closed. Then he lifted his head and turned to face the alabaster statue of body whose soul had now fled though it still stood in the clearing, mute evidence of the pain that had been. But, the statue had ceased its endless weeping and a soft smile now graced its marble visage. He blew out a long sigh, then nodded to himself. He would leave the statue to stand here through all the centuries to come until the elements wore it away. Until then, it would stand as a testament to the glory and power of love to heal all wounds, to ease away the grief of the ages and bring a lasting peace.

Without turning to face Hercules, the god said quietly, "Be not afraid, Hercules. Iolaus is only sleeping and when he wakes, he'll be strong and well."

Apollo vanished then, leaving the demigod and his friend alone in the forest glade. Suddenly, the gurgling of the brook was no longer the only sound to be heard. The wind whispered softly in the branches of the trees, and birds sang out cheerfully as a bee buzzed languidly from one newly blossoming flower to another.

It was tranquil and very peaceful. A place of beauty that restored the spirit.

Hercules gazed down into his friend's face as he gently brushed Iolaus' tangled curls back from his forehead and then lightly caressed his cheek. "Gods, Iolaus," the demigod murmured, a smile playing about his lips, "there'll be no living with you now…but you've wrought a miracle, my friend, and this is one story that if you don't tell in all its glory, I will."

He paused, then shook his friend gently as he growled affectionately, "And, if you ever do something this crazy again, I swear I'll kill you myself."

The demigod chuckled quietly at his own illogical mutterings, unable to constrain or deny the exuberant happiness he felt in the knowledge that they were both safe and alive. Leaning back against the tree, Hercules held Iolaus tightly cradled in his arms, as he waited patiently for his friend to wake up.

The truth of the matter was that Hercules was glad to have a space of time to think about what had happened over the past month. For good or ill, his memories were intact and he needed to reconcile them in the context of the emotions they now evoked. Sadly, he remembered how hard Iolaus had tried to engage his attention and interest during their aborted fishing trip. Iolaus was a complex man, but not a complicated one. All he'd wanted was a small window of time where they could simply relax and enjoy themselves…not much to ask for, and though he might have stayed there longer, for the blond warrior it just hadn't been any fun when Hercules was incapable of enjoying himself, too.

Frowning, Hercules remembered how cold he'd been, how remote and he castigated himself for his behaviour. Cursed or not, how could he have turned away from his lifelong friend, care nothing for Iolaus, nothing at all? It frightened him to know such a thing was possible for he'd never have believed that anything in this world or beyond it could blot out what he felt for his best friend.

Swallowing hard, he had to acknowledge that he'd been guilty of more than a lack of emotion. When it counted, when he was needed, he'd also failed to act. Those bandits might have killed both of them if not for Iolaus' own skills as a warrior. His mouth went dry as he recalled just standing there when those villains had been beating Iolaus…how he hadn't even flinched when Iolaus was wounded, let alone call out a warning or do something to help. Gods, he hadn't even helped his best friend care for his wounds, too indifferent to care about Iolaus or about the knife lodged in his own back.

Hercules took a deep breath and closed his eyes, wishing he could as easily blot out the memories. He'd known his behaviours were inappropriate but he'd felt so damned empty that life simply hadn't seemed worth living. Nothing had mattered to him. Absolutely nothing.

He wondered if he'd ever be able to live comfortably with these terrifying memories that made a mockery of everything he was, everything he believed in and felt in the deepest part of his being.

Was this what indifference eventually did to anyone who embraced it, turning away from the needs and hopes of others, whether loved ones or strangers? Did it always inevitably lead to such an emotional desert of cold remote isolation? To such emptiness of being that one might as well not live at all? Hercules didn't know because until now, indifference wasn't something he'd ever experienced. Was this how the gods felt? Was that why they seemed so arbitrary and unpredictable? Why they didn't seem to care about anything but their own petty desires? The demigod shuddered and for the first time, he felt a kind of pity for the gods…such an empty existence was no life. It held no wonder or joy. No challenge or satisfaction. True, there was no fear for a loved one, no loss…but neither was there any love. He remembered how he'd almost hungered for an end to it, death the only thing he really had desired during all those terrible weeks.

Hercules didn't know whether he was mortal or not, but he suspected that he was, that he could die. If he was immortal, Zeus would hardly have needed to institute the 'no kill' rule to protect him. Accordingly, the demigod was quite certain that he would have died of the curse at the end of the allotted span of time, if not before from the indifference to life that had been his reality.

He was alive now because of Iolaus.

Gazing down at his friend, Hercules remembered Iolaus saying that he cared enough for both of them and that would have to be enough. Smiling wistfully, the demigod thought that had probably always been true, not just for the past few weeks. Iolaus had not been willing to give up on him…had pushed both of them hard to get here within the month of time the curse had allowed. He'd always known Iolaus was stubborn and determined, but even the experience of a lifetime could not have prepared him for the sheer bloody-minded willfulness his buddy had shown these last two weeks which had been a continuing battle of wills between them that Iolaus just wasn't prepared to lose.

Needless to say, Iolaus had won, hour after hour, day after day.

They'd made it, even though in the last week Iolaus had forced him to travel with only the barest of breaks to drink or eat, or rest for an hour before pushing on again. After they'd finally found their way here, to the clearing and the frozen remains of Catalina, Hercules' memories became more fragmented, jumbled, as he'd slipped toward eternal sleep. He recalled fragments of Iolaus arguing with the spirit of the maiden, pleading…begging. It made him sick at heart to remember he'd only found his best friend's entreaties to be irritating, that he'd been so ready and willing to simply give up…shuddering he remembered his cold indifference even as he'd heard Iolaus offer up his own life and soul. How could he have listened to that and not protested, not cared?

But he'd never forget waking up to find Iolaus barely conscious…or the torn fragments of hemlock he'd found clenched in his best friend's fist. Hercules' chest tightened at the memory and he had to swallow against the lump in his throat. What had Iolaus said? That she hadn't cared whose soul was sacrificed so long as the price of her tears was paid? And so Iolaus, determined to save his best friend's life and soul, stubborn and willful to the end, had deliberately chosen suicide.

While that knowledge touched Hercules deeply, it also tore at his heart and made his soul weep.

Nor did it help to know he'd have made the same choice had their situations been reversed.

He wondered what he could ever say, or do, to repay such a gift knowing in his heart that nothing could ever really be enough. Iolaus had felt there'd been no choice but to act as he had…he'd neither expect nor welcome thanks. It would only embarrass him. This was what the gods could never know, could never experience…the overwhelming, incredible knowledge that someone loved you so much they would not hesitate a moment to trade their life to save yours. There were no words to capture the tumult of emotion Hercules felt as he thought of what Iolaus had done for him.

It was humbling and terrifying at the same time.

The afternoon was waning when Iolaus finally began to stir in Hercules' arms. Muscles twitched and he blinked, wondering where he was. His last memory was of being held by Hercules as the darkness claimed him.

It seemed he was still being held by Hercules.

And, unless he was very mistaken, it also seemed he was still alive.

Puzzled, not understanding, Iolaus lifted questioning eyes to his friend, even as he struggled to sit up on his own. Hercules helped him find his balance, then let his arms slip away, shifting a little so that they were sitting side by side.

"What happened?" Iolaus asked, his voice a little foggy from the deep sleep he'd been in.

Hercules shook his head as he looked toward the statue. "It's a long story, but the short version is that your unselfish sacrifice stunned Catalina. She asked Apollo to save your life and to abolish the curse."

"Apollo?" the warrior repeated with a frown of confusion. "Where does Apollo figure into this?"

Shrugging a little, the demigod again shook his head. "I'm not really sure," he replied, "except that it was pretty clear that Apollo loves her and would do anything for her…including using his power to combat the effects of hemlock on a mortal body. For which gesture I will always be grateful."

Iolaus had looked away at that last bit, wondering which 'gesture' Hercules meant…the consumption of the hemlock or the cure of it. He stiffened a little in anticipation of the lecture that was bound to come… the one about how he wasn't supposed to risk his own life for the sole purpose of saving Herc. But, when there was only silence, he looked back at Hercules, to find the demigod was gazing at him with an odd look on his face…an uneasy mix of gratitude and compassion, regret and wonder. Looking away again, feeling oddly embarrassed as he studied the sky, Iolaus got to his feet and ambled over to where he'd dropped his pack, lifting it to his shoulder.

"It's getting late so we'd better find a place to camp. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not stay here for the night," the warrior observed as he headed off downstream. He'd gone so long making the decisions for both of them that it didn't even occur to him to ask Hercules what he wanted.

"Um, actually," the demigod called out to his retreating back, "I noticed there was a tavern in the village. Why don't we head there for something to eat before we look for a place to camp?"

Startled, Iolaus pulled up and turned back. "Ah, sure…if that's what you'd like to do," he replied with a grin. Taverns usually meant a good hot stew that could be washed down with a nice mug or two of ale. Sounded good to him. The best part, though, was knowing that if there was a crowd of strangers around, Herc would be less likely to blast him for the choice he'd made to save his best friend's life. The truth was, he really didn't want to talk about it…he's done it, he'd do it again, it was over and they'd gotten off lucky. Case closed, as far as Iolaus was concerned.

Nodding, Hercules turned to lead the way along the path back to the village. The demigod hadn't known what to say when Iolaus had finally awakened…hadn't known how to let his friend know how deeply he'd appreciated Iolaus' incredibly noble and courageous choice to save his life. But, he had an idea…and he hoped his buddy would understand. Oblivious to the demigod's musings, with a thoughtful smile playing about his own lips, Iolaus strode along behind him…it was good to see Herc making his own decisions again, caring enough about where they went to take the lead. Good to know he wouldn't have to keep forcing him to remember to eat!

When they got back to the village, and arrived in the tavern, the healer looked up from where he'd been standing by the bar and gaped at the two of them.

"You're back…" he breathed, quite stunned, especially to see Hercules looking so much better than the pale, trembling shell of a man he'd been just a few short hours before. The tavern-keeper, having just heard from his old friend Lucius, the healer, the story of the two travelers and their hopeless quest, looked equally staggered.

"What happened?" he demanded as he filled two mugs of rich ale for the strangers. "Did you see Catalina?"

Hercules nodded and smiled as he picked up one mug to hand to Iolaus then took the second for himself. "Yes, we saw her," he confirmed before taking a sip.

"So…what happened?" demanded Lucius. "I mean, it's clear she lifted her curse on you, but we've never heard of such a thing before. Never, not in centuries has such a reprieve been granted. How did you get her to care enough to even listen to you?"

Hercules looked over at Iolaus, who shrugged then set his mug on the bar. "Well, basically I guess you could say we worked out a deal…" the warrior started to explain, but his voice trailed off, unwilling to go into the details.

"A deal?" the tavern-keeper repeated, clearly avid in his curiousity. He leaned his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, eager to hear the story. Nothing so interesting had happened in this village since Catalina had murdered her father in self-defence and then had been turned into a statue…and that had been a very long time ago.

Hercules smiled softly as he looked at Iolaus, who in turn looked away, blushing a little under his friend's scrutiny. Having anticipated this moment and already having decided that this time it was his turn to be the story-teller, Hercules turned to face the other two men…and the rest of the locals who had perked up at the brief conversation and were listening intently from further along the bar or from their tables.

"Yes, a deal," Hercules began. "As you may have heard, I wasn't in very good shape by the time we arrived here. Someone had concealed Catalina's tears in something I drank a month ago and my time had just about run out…not, as you can imagine, that I cared very much. But…Iolaus had told me on the way here that he cared enough for both of us. And, believe me, he meant it. You wouldn't believe how stubborn or determined he was as he practically shoved me every step of the way of our journey the last couple of weeks. At one point, he had to fight off about a dozen bandits by himself because I was too indifferent to care what happened to either of us. Anyway, having practically carried me to the clearing, he demanded to know what it would take for Catalina to lift the curse, practically shaking the statue when she didn't respond. She finally appeared and told him all she required was a soul and she didn't care whose soul it was. So…Iolaus offered his own in exchange for my life."

There was a collective gasp around the small crowded establishment as everyone there hung on Hercules' words and stole speculative looks at the smaller warrior by his side. What did Hercules mean…was it possible that that man there was walking around without a soul? The terrifying thought only titillated them, making them even more eager to hear more.

Taking a sip of his ale, the demigod cut his friend a quick look and saw that Iolaus was leaning on the bar, his back to the room and his head down. His buddy had stiffened as Hercules had begun to relate the details of the story, and he looked a little flushed as he stared down at his mug of ale. No, this wasn't a story Iolaus would have told. Much as the blond warrior loved nothing better than regaling a pack of strangers with the wonders of their exploits, and could be hurt if his own contributions were overlooked, he tended not to share those events which were the most personal…that revealed the depths of his soul. Those moments, those choices, he locked away in the secret places of his heart.

With a soft smile, turning back to his audience, Hercules continued, unable to keep the emotion from his voice as he recounted what had happened. "Iolaus consumed enough of the hemlock that grows in that clearing to…to kill himself," the demigod related, his voice catching a little. Taking a deep breath, he went on, "In return, Catalina freed me of her curse. But…it seems Iolaus' actions, his selflessness and willingness to give up his own life to save a friend shocked her deeply. It was evidence of an unconditional love she had never experienced, never witnessed before, not in all the centuries that have passed. She realized as Iolaus lay dying in my arms that what she was demanding was wrong, terribly wrong. Unable to intervene on her own, Catalina called upon Apollo and asked him to heal Iolaus and to nullify the power of her curse. Apollo appeared to us and granted her wish. As a result of the compassion she felt for Iolaus, her soul was finally free, as were the other souls she'd held hostage to her pain there with her."

Hercules looked around the small crowded tavern at the awestruck faces. The silence was palpable. Softly, he concluded the tale, "The curse is over…the statue has ceased its weeping...Iolaus' courage has put an end to it all."

"By the gods," Finias sighed then, looking from Hercules to Iolaus and back again. "I'd never have thought it possible."

Iolaus could feel the eyes of the others upon him but still he didn't turn to face them. He wasn't sure how he felt about Hercules telling the story…it wasn't something he'd ever imagined anyone would be told. He was astonished that Hercules, normally so private, had decided to tell the story at all…and touched that his friend had told it so well.

But, it seemed Hercules wasn't yet finished.

"Iolaus worked a miracle," the demigod said quietly. "I could only wish that everyone could have a friend such as I have…one, that when you're lost, dying even, too indifferent to care anymore what happens to yourself, cares enough for the both of you, cares enough to face any odds to do whatever is needed to see you through. Someone to guide you through the darkness and be prepared to give all he has to save you. But…honestly, I know of no others like Iolaus…and, believe me, I know how lucky I've always been to have him by my side. He's the best man I've ever known. I…I'm proud and more grateful than words can ever express to know he's my best friend."

"Here, here!" shouted all the men around them, raising their mugs to salute the noble warrior at the bar. Iolaus shook his head tightly, then sighed, straightening to face them and to acknowledge their tribute.

Embarrassed, the warrior protested their adulation as he turned to lean his back on the bar, "Herc would have done the same for me."

When he looked up and caught the demigod's eyes, he was struck by the sincerity in them as Hercules replied softly, his voice cracking with emotion, "Yes, I would...in a heartbeat…because you're worth it."

The warrior smiled slowly, appreciating those quiet words more than he could say. Then he saluted the demigod with his mug before taking a long swallow. Deciding it was time to change the focus of this discussion, he turned to face the crowd and he began to regale them, "Well, if you think that was a good story, let me tell you about how Hercules defeated the Stymphalian Bird…" and he was off. For the rest of the evening, he awed them with one story after another of the and wonderful adventures of the Son of Zeus, often having them either dumbfounded by the heroic achievements or laughing at his wry humour.

Much later, the tavern-keeper insisted they bed down in the rooms he kept above for travelers.

* * *

The next morning as they were ambling out of town, Iolaus turned to his best friend to ask, "You want to head anywhere in particular?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," replied Hercules with a decisive nod. "There's a great fishing spot near Kapentia. The last time I was there, I wasn't in the mood to enjoy it much. If you don't mind, I'd like to head back there."

"Great," grinned Iolaus with an enthusiastic nod. He couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather go.

"Fine," replied the demigod, setting off, then continued quietly, "I was miserable company the last time…"

"You can say that again," muttered Iolaus, then laughed as he dodged the playful swing Hercules took at his head. "Right, I know, it wasn't your fault. But, gods Herc, 'miserable' doesn't begin to cover it."

"I know," agreed the demigod, chagrined. "I'll make up for it…we'll have a good time."

Looking up at his friend, Iolaus replied evenly, "You don't have to 'make up' for anything…it really wasn't your fault, none of it. Just be yourself, Herc…that's always been more than good enough for me."

Hercules ambled a few more steps, his head down as if he was reflecting on his best friend's words. Looking up finally, he simply said, "Thank you." But, something in his tone and the look in his eyes let Iolaus know that he wasn't referring to the last comment…he was referring to the last month and everything Iolaus had done to keep him going, to keep him alive.

"You're welcome," Iolaus replied equally as simply. But, then with an impish grin, he couldn't resist adding, "But, ah, the next time we run into a dozen bandits, it's your turn to take them on…"

Chuckling the demigod looped an arm around his best friend's shoulders as he replied with a warm smile, "That seems like the least that I could do."

"Since you're so agreeable," Iolaus continued merrily, "you can also do all the hunting, cooking…"

"Don't push it, Iolaus," Hercules growled giving him a playful shake.

"Good to have you back, Herc," Iolaus laughed…and he meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

* * *

Zeus was a happy King of the Gods. His golden son, Apollo, had finally come to his senses and was behaving with grace and even majesty, balanced and mature, confident. Aphrodite was preening with self-congratulation for having found a way to intervene without violating any of the rules. Word was, Hades was also more cheerful than usual, having claimed souls too long denied to him.

And Ares…well, Ares wasn't all that happy. In fact, he was downright surly…but that was nothing new and no one on Olympus even noticed.

If Atropos had gotten shouldered aside from their tapestry by a sister busily tying up the loose ends of souls held too long in abeyance while Clothos chuckled quietly in the corner, there was no one but the three of them there to know.

Finis

Note: Once again I am indebted to Suzanne for a wonderful story outline. All I had to do was write it down. I chose to address the enigma of the dreadful Apollo of the television series which grossly distorted and demeaned a worthy and noble god. I felt a need to try to explain why Apollo was such a wretched wastrel despite the mythology which paints an entirely different picture of the God of Medicine, father of Aesclepius, beloved for countless centuries by those who worshipped him. I hope I've done him justice…which is more than the series' writers ever attempted to do!


End file.
